Wednesday, February 21, 2007
The Jesse Discount.
It's hard to explain HOW the Jesse Discount works. I've seen it negotiated right in front of me and I'm still not sure exactly how it works.

But there is no question of it's existence. My brother Jesse gets a discount on ........... well, life, I think.

Equally difficult to describe is my brother himself. To say he's particular would imply he's annoying. And he really isn't. He knows exactly what he wants, but he'll pay extra or wait longer for it, with an undisturbed pleasant attitude.
People are always happy to do business with him again, even if they're giving him a deal they'd probably hesitate to give their own mother.


After observing him closely, I've gleaned the following tips, small formulas that make up the alchemy that is The Jesse Discount.

Jesse never appears to be in a hurry. How he manages that while never being late, I don't know. But Jesse always gives himself time to talk to the salesperson, owner, manager, chef, and learn about their job. Perhaps he gets the equivalent of the employee discount simply because he knows what magic number that IS. Jesse has more friends at his bank than I have in the entire world. He could have his own desk there, but he doesn't need it, since anyone there is willing to let him use theirs. He remembers names, kids, their last vacation, what their hair looked like before they cut it. He's not gushy, just pleasant and very attentive.
He'll talk to you for as long or short a time as you want.

Jesse never lies or manipulates. It's just not in him. I told him once that while he doesn't lack for depth, he doesn't have layers. There is no conscious, subconscious, ego, id, underlaying motive, etc. His thought process exists on one plane. And his frankness comes across when you talk to him.

Jesse knows exactly what he wants when he walks in the door. And exactly what he'll spend to get it. Negotiating doesn't meet in the middle, it consists of Jesse repeating exactly what he'd like, until you realize he means it, and let him know if you can or cannot accommodate him. And he taught me to explain that THAT is what's its worth to YOU, not a reflection of it's actual worth, so that they can let it go cheaply while still saving face.

Jesse is just stubborn enough to get what he wants, but not so stubborn as to inconvenience him much. This is a delicate balance, I know.

Jesse speaks body language fluently. Jesse might simply say hello, but meanwhile his body says, "I AM VERY IMPORTANT. YOU LIKE ME VERY MUCH. A FREE UPGRADE IS IN ORDER. NOW YOU ARE IMPORTANT BY ASSOCIATION. BRING ME A FREE DRINK (no ice, please) AND TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS."

One of the few qualities Jesse and I share is what I call the Tour Guide gene. We LOVE to tell what we know. Love it, love it. Jesse is never stingy with tips or helpful info. And since he soaks up information like a sponge (or a palm pilot) he's always got something.

Jesse dearly loves to be remembered. He tends to find his favorite of something, restaurant, airline reservation counter, taco stand in Ensenada Mexico, etc. People love to give discounts to repeat customers, and if they've memorized the way you like your steak, there's less chance of a mistake. Usually the first thing he'll do when entering any place of business is to ask for someone by name. Even if that person is not available, the person you're speaking with will wonder what information the person you asked for told you, or what discount they promised you, and tend to give you the benefit of the doubt.


So there you go. Of the magic show that is The Jesse Discount, those are the tricks I understand and can explain. The rest, you just have to sit back and enjoy the show, even, perhaps especially because you don't know how it's done.

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Tuesday, February 20, 2007
'Rezzie asked me for a list of lame-except-that-they're-really-kinda-cool things to do on a Tuesday night.
And then I realized it's Mardi Gras.
Which doesn't mean much to me, personally. I have a puppy to get home to, and with Nick out of town, so what little indulgent or naughty revelry I might have gotten into is out. Maybe instead of my usual glass of wine nightcap, I'll spice it up with a Midori Sour.

What? I've never claimed to have a crazy life in a Paris Hilton sense.
I claimed to have a crazy, somewhat surreal, fun in unusual ways/times/locations kinda life, but that's different. I mean, from another perspective, you could say I have a very ordinary sort of life. Office job, house in the suburbs, a popular model of car, no major vices, unless you count coloring books or caffiene.

But anyhoo.
Here's the various things I'm thinking of doing tonight.


Make chicken and rice burritos.

Sing Rod Steward songs. Loudly. "Maggie, I think I got something to say to you..." "She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love...." "... love until your heart break...."

Wear a dress and earrings, even just around the house, even if no one is around. But no shoes.

Make a mobile out of pictures, glitter, odd earrings and seashells.

Pratice my swing dancing to whatever music comes on the tv, from commercials or tv show themes.


Feel free to join me, in spirit.

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Friday, February 16, 2007
Things to do while My Nick is away next week.
Dye Dulce to look like Mau, and dye Mau to look like Dulce. When Nick gets back, let him wonder at their change in personality.

Or, just dye one paw and say I had to do a transplant. (Despite what has been suggested, I do not actually know how to do this.)

Use eyelash glue to attach fake stitches and a bolt on either side of Mau's neck. Claim, while shifting eyes rapidly, that nothing happened.

Use eyelash glue to attach fake eyelashes to Dulce.

Get another cat. Edit old blog entries to include references to this cat, and claim I've always had it.

Dye my hair. Blond.

Cut it while I'm at it.

Have some new freckles tattooed on.

Hire an actor to play my "new husband," because "I got tired of waiting."

Hire a plumber to switch the hot and cold water taps in the bathroom.

Find a younger and smaller Great Dane with Luca's same markings, and claim Luca shrank when I washed him.

Cut a hole in the couch, stick one of my legs in it and tearfully tell him that I lost it in a tragic "cheesegrater accident."

Call him while he's away and tell him I was abducted by aliens. Have no memory of this when he returns. Act like a stepford wife.

Put the tv and couches in storage and turn the living room into an indoor tennis court.

Hire a contractor to change the shape of the two bedroom skylights from square to eye shaped and switch all the light switches from one to the other side of the door.

Switch from right to left handed.

Hem all his pants and move the pictures lower on the walls. Slump.

Mail myself a fake bill from the hospital, for "skin grafts."



Any other suggestions?

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Friday, January 12, 2007
Things You Should Never Do On A Rollercoaster
Attempt to tie your shoes.

Recite the Lords Prayer loudly.

Stick your tongue out.

Vomit.

Make out.

Yell "I'm jumping off!"

Jump off.

Jump on.

Wear flipflops.

Stuff your sweatshirt under your shirt and wonder if anyone will point out the "No pregnant women" sign.

Sit next to 7 year old boys who are holding a jumbo cotton candy.

Sit next to 7 year old boys who are advertising how much they're about to puke.

Think "I'll just hold it between my knees."

Think "I'll just hold it."

After the ride, tell the attendant your friend fell off.

Before the ride, hold a bolt in your hand and stare up at the coaster with a dazed expression.

Assume the back rows won't get wet.

Get off weeping, in full view of the people about to ride.

Pass out.





Do I know these things from experience? Perhaps.

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Friday, December 29, 2006
But Is 2007 Ready For ME?
Last year I posted a long list of resolutions.
Damn good ones, and I did a damn good job of keeping them.
So, as my reward, I have no resolutions this year.

Not that there is no longer any room for improvement (ha! hardly) but would you want to live in a house that was in a constant state of remodel? I think not.

This year, it's not about how I can make myself better in 2007, it's how 2007 can be better to ME.
2007 is my bitch, yo.

And here's what I want from 2007.

  • Flowers
  • Vacations
  • All debt paid off
  • Dancing
It occurs to me after re-reading my list that 2007 will be not so much my bitch as my sugar daddy.

*shrugs*

I can accept that.

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Thursday, December 07, 2006
What I Really Want For Christmas, Hanukkah, My Birthday, This Holiday Season.
  • Cherry Tomatoes. The Trader Joe's Organics Mixed Medley Cherry Tomatoes, specifically.
  • Someone to pay my bills. Well, not pay them exactly. Just someone who'll take my money, address the envelopes, lick the stamps and drop them in the mail. Wait, no, someone to pay my bills. With their money. That's even easier.
  • This album. For Heat of the Moment. Which is a.) a kick ass song, and b.) Nick and I can't help giggling like crazy when ever we hear it because it reminds us of that episode of South Part where Cartman sings the song to the Congress to convince them to pull the plug on Kenny so he can have Kenny's video game. So the song just makes me happy all around.
  • Juicy pear or black licorice JellyBelly jelly beans.
  • A note from my doctor excusing me from any meeting longer than 20 minutes.
  • A small yacht.
  • A day off to do nothing but lay in the sun with my puppy.
  • Sea Monkeys! Can you believe Colsy heard on the radio that they were on the Worst Gift list?
  • A bunch of plane tickets, to fly in all my lovely readers for my birthday party.
  • A bunny.
  • World peace.

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